


Excuse Me

by takenbynumbers



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29499132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takenbynumbers/pseuds/takenbynumbers
Summary: Tseng and Reeve Tuesti; just a regular ol' story of two gentlemen working for Shinra.
Relationships: Tseng/Reeve Tuesti
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Excuse Me

**Author's Note:**

> this started as a one-shot for black and then spiraled out of control. i'll probably add more at some point. special thanks to pixeled for the beta!

"Excuse me."

The first thing Tseng hears after getting absolutely _drenched_ in coffee is Reeve's smooth voice, dripping with sincerity and apologies. He looks up, notices Reeve just _standing_ there, and just the barest hint of his upper lip curls in response.

"It's fine."

Reeve nods, one hand hovering helplessly, like he can will away the coffee dripping off Tseng’s suit jacket. Had it been anyone else - literally _anyone_ – he wouldn’t have been silent in his fury, tongue held back. Instead, he merely offers a tight smile and a slight tip of his head as he turns and heads immediately to the bathroom to clean up.

The first time he meets Reeve is through a paper trail - requiring his department to assist in some troubles at a reactor. Tseng’s first reaction is one of confusion, questioning who this engineer ‘Tuesti’ thought he was, demanding _their_ presence. Why couldn’t a few cadets handle such a thing? Veld merely grunts and Tseng can tell he’s about seven seconds away from being cuffed up the back of the head.

“Treat ‘im nice. He’s too fuckin’ smart for this place,” Veld explains before ordering him out of the room to take lead on the mission. 

And he was. Too clever by far, only half-explaining why he needs the Turks in the first place and a part of Tseng could respect that. What Reeve gets up to - it isn’t any of his business. Not unless Reeve thinks it should be.

After that, Tseng finds himself running into Reeve more regularly. A friendly greeting here and there. A smile from behind a frazzled Veld.

It’s fine. He’s fine. Tseng has no strong feelings either way about Reeve right up until the coffee incident and now he’s starting to see why the higher-ups seem to dislike him so much. Shirtless in an office bathroom first thing in the morning is not how he wants to spend his time. Not that he thinks they have had the same experience as him. It’s the _principle_ of the matter.

“I assume you’ve got a spare suit tucked away somewhere?”

He whips his head around and sees Reeve standing in the doorway with a small washcloth in his hand. “Here. Thought you might need it…” 

Tseng accepts the cloth and runs it under the warm water before he starts to wipe his body down from where the coffee has seeped through his shirt. 

  
“Are you, uh...busy, after work? There’s this noodle place I know below plate...really nice food…” 

  
“I finish pretty late,” Tseng answers, absentmindedly. He _does_ have a spare suit but going through the hallways to the office without a shirt sounds like his worst nightmare come true. He didn't even know it was a possibility until now, and he _knows_ his traitorous brain will remind him of it every night for the rest of his life if he has to go through with it. 

“I kn- uh. As do I, so I can wait. I’ve got plenty to work on until you finish.”

Looking up, he sees Reeve watching him, and he finally realises - 

“Would you be able to get my suit from my locker, please?” A pause, and he can see Reeve is waiting on something. _Right_. "Food sounds good. You owe me for this, anyway."

*  
  
It becomes a bi-weekly occurrence, even when things start to go haywire in their lives. Which they end up discussing, always over the same dish (black bean noodles and broccoli) - and it is a _damn_ fine noodle place. They never can secure a seat inside but there’s always a spot outside and he can see the appeal of eating amongst the throngs. He spends enough time below the plate to be able to ignore most of the happenings around him, but Reeve doesn’t. He talks about the improvements he’s making, the ways in which the reactors help the various sectors and their trickle-down effect, even city planning.

Tseng doesn’t always listen. Sometimes he zones out, chopsticks hovering, distracted by the way the shadows dance across Reeve’s face, accenting his angular features. He likes how the beard is growing in, occasionally has the fleeting thought of what it would feel like against his hand. Between his thighs. He blames the lack of sleep on those thoughts, which always drift to what Reeve would be like to sleep next to.

At some point one night the decision is made to spend the night at one of their apartments. Tseng can’t remember how it comes up - he hasn’t even been drinking, he’s just running on about three hours of sleep in as many days. But he’s amenable to the idea and ends up following Reeve home.

His apartment is nice. More than - it looks lived in. Books and hardware stacked about the place, the skeleton of a few different robots sitting on the kitchen table (one of them looks suspiciously feline and Tseng has a few questions), and he looks around to find Reeve looking at him with an odd expression. 

“What? Is there something on my face?” Tseng rubs his fingers over his mouth and chin, wincing at the stubble. He can’t shave when he’s sleep deprived, because he’s likely to slit his own throat open with his straight razor. Less dramatically - he’s got enough small gouges and tiny scars along his jaw from where the blade has nicked him in the past. He wonders if Reeve has the same issue and that’s why he decided to grow the facial hair.

“No. Your face is...fine. It’s definitely fine. Do you want the couch or the bed?”

Tseng gives him a look, eyebrow arching in question. “You’re asking me to choose between a bed and a couch? _Really_.”

Reeve rubs the back of his neck, a small laugh escaping him, though it sounds nervous to Tseng’s ears. “I’m trying to be a gentleman. Is it working?”

“It is. I’ll take your bed.” 

“And if I was in it as well?”

He blinks a few times, trying to process the words coming out of Reeve’s mouth. It’s not - what? “I’m sorry, I missed that?” 

“I mean...as long as it isn’t moving too fast? I know we haven’t done much on our dates, but it’s been almost a year…”

“...Dates?”

Reeve frowns and steps forward. Tseng, to his own personal amazement, doesn’t step back. 

“All those times I took you out to dinner? The time we’ve been spending together, getting to know each other?” 

Tseng stares blankly at Reeve and can practically hear the click of the puzzle falling into place. The fact that Reeve always brings him a coffee during the day when he can get away from the desk and always with a small piece of his favourite dark chocolate (orange or plain, never milk chocolate and _never_ any kind of baked goods). Or the way Reeve always waits for him at the end of the week outside his office, usually with a bag of takeout and beer. 

Reeve also put his arm over the back of the couch more than once and Tseng never thought anything of it at the time, but now he’s starting to realise that - 

_Oh_.

It’s one of the few instances in his life where he feels uncharacteristically oblivious to everything around him, but he’s not going to apologise because he’s a _Turk_ , and he’s so very tired of all sudden. So, he just smiles, feeling the way his cheeks feel like they’re burning up all of a sudden and resolutely ignoring it. 

“I suppose we can share a bed at this stage of our courtship.” Tseng immediately regrets his choice of words until he sees the look of bemusement on Reeve’s face and the way he steps closer, grabbing Tseng’s wrist and lifting it to his face. 

“I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” 

It isn’t until he’s washing up in the bathroom (Reeve kindly lends him a t-shirt to sleep in. joking it can be his designated sleep shirt) that he decides to open the medicine cabinet, just to see. He is a Turk, after all. And who knows what secrets Reeve is hiding. Turns out, precisely nothing. The two well-maintained straight razors catch his eye, and Tseng smiles and closes the cabinet door before heading into the bedroom. He’s dressed in nothing but a slightly oversized t-shirt and his briefs, with his suit on a coat hanger over his arm. 

The room is dimmed, and Reeve’s already under the covers, his plaid red and blue flannel pajama top rather endearing. Especially given Tseng has only ever seen him in a suit.

“Hang it in the wardrobe and come to bed.” 

A quick glance at the glowing blue numbers on the clock by Reeve’s bed show it’s earlier than Tseng initially thought. Or maybe it’s the fact that he got off work on time for once. Which, if he thinks about it, can’t be right. Did he forget to do something? 

“Tseng....are you alright?” 

He blinks and finally realises - fuck it. It can wait. The prospect of sleep is too alluring, as is Reeve’s look of concern. So he hangs the suit up (ignoring the fact that there’s enough room for it and the sense of intimacy in their clothes mingling) and climbs into bed. He lets out a soft sigh when his head hits the pillow, the smell of Reeve wafting up. It’s kind of like citrus and smoked rose petals, and that underlying smell of mechanical oil that seems to follow them both around. 

Reeve hits a button on the remote on the bedside table and the lights go off completely, plunging the room into darkness. Tseng can feel himself start to succumb to sleep until the bed shifts and a hand is touching his chest. His first instinct is to snap the wrist but through the haze and throbbing he's starting to feel in his head, Tseng blindly grabs Reeve’s hand and intertwines their fingers together. When he dozes off, a strange sense of calm washes over him. Like maybe things are looking up for him after all. 

~

Tseng wakes up at dawn, the light starting to filter through the blind. Sitting up, he chances a look at the clock. It tells him it's still too early, and it takes a moment to realise why he's awake. 

Reeve seems to have ditched his top at some point during the night, and Tseng's eyes are drawn to the dark hair dusting his chest and since _when_ did Reeve have time to work out? He takes a moment to take in his relaxed expression, the way he's just sprawled out on his back like Tseng isn't even there. 

Except one eye opens, and Reeve reaches out and pulls him back down. Tseng lands on him with a grunt but settles against his sleep-warm skin. 

"Did you sleep okay?" Reeve asks, voice hoarse from disuse, and Tseng drags his finger over Reeve’s collarbone, tracing down his arm. 

"Yes. Did you?”  
  
“Remarkably so. Perhaps we should make this a regular occurrence.” 

Tseng eyes him in the grey morning light, sees the glint in Reeve’s eyes, the upturn of his lips. The way his hair just kind of...falls over his face in a lackadaisical fashion. The sleep-warm skin against his arm is heady, enough for Tseng to lean in and make the first move. His lips are dry and neither of them move - shocked into one position. 

It takes a moment for Tseng to deepen the kiss - tilt his head, he _knows_ how it's done, it shouldn't be this hard, and Reeve finally responds by grasping Tseng by the back of the neck and holding him in place, his other hand drifting down to graze along his side, over his back. 

Tseng ends up with Reeve's cock in his mouth, his own shoved down Reeve's throat as he learns that maybe the perfect gentleman isn't so straight-laced like he originally thought - except all thoughts escape him as he bucks into Reeve's wet mouth, his cock slipping from his mouth and smacking wetly against Tseng’s cheek.   
  
  


*  
  
  


The day he becomes Director is an anti-climactic affair. There’s no song and dance, no ceremony. It’s a quick signing of papers and the handover of an office too big by half. Too empty. He misses his co-workers, misses the bustle of activity. What he _loathes_ is the board meetings he finds to be a complete waste of his time. Rarely are his Turks deployed for anything worthwhile and he knows whose fault that is. Knows the power they once held has been diminished - to be used as pawns under Heidegger and the President, nothing more. 

The guilt weighs heavily on him - too long, as he sits in the chair, surrounded by paperwork he knows needs to be completed but he _can’t fucking focus_. Not when he’s been instructed to -

A knock at the door and he looks up, clears his throat. “Come in.”

He’s not expecting Reeve. He _just_ saw him a few hours at the board meeting, talking about plans and figures that always inevitably get twisted.

They've been together for a few years; he knows that underneath all those layers is a man willing to do what needs to be done, by any means necessary. He's ruthless in a way that a Turk can never be - diplomatically cunning with the right people. Tseng knows he's got a long way to go - he can socialise with the best of them, but his path is one of violence and suppression. 

Maybe it's why they work so well together. Reeve, forever trying to plead with Tseng to consider a different angle. To gain trust where he needs it, support for his causes. Change the system from the inside out. Reduce the damage caused by the company. Play the game. 

Except Reeve plays a different game every time. Like the toys he constructs and pushes into Tseng, opening him up for what feels like more than just his cock. The way he gives up control, lets Tseng take him hard in the bathroom, bent over the toilet, scrambling for purchase against filthy porcelain and -

No. Not the time or place. 

His mind instead drifts to the quieter moments - lounging against each other on the couch, book in hand, Reeve's fingers lazily carding through Tseng’s hair. The way Tseng stumbles into Reeve's bedroom, post mission, and collapses into his arms. It doesn't matter what time he comes in or even the fact that Reeve’s sleep will inevitably be disrupted- he's always welcomed with open arms and folded into Reeve's body, covers pulled up high over them both. 

The brush of Reeve’s fingers against his when he passes him a folder in front of people and Tseng can still _feel it_ , even through the leather of his gloves. That hint of their clandestine romance being exposed to everyone. Tseng knows it's not why they're together. His Turks know. Rufus probably knows. Scarlet probably knows, if that sly wink when they left together was any indication. 

Reeve approaches the desk and Tseng knows the cameras are watching. They always are. It doesn’t stop Reeve from pulling a chair over to sit next to him, one hand reaching out and resting on his thigh. It’s a reassuring weight, and Tseng doesn’t say a word, just picks up one of the papers on his desk as Reeve pulls out his PHS and keeps himself occupied while Tseng starts signing his signature. 

*  
  


The Vice-President is in Junon and Tseng is in the office, after having to sit through yet another meeting with Heidegger about the latest terrorist attacks. AVALANCHE. There’s something off about the entire situation, but he’s got his own concerning business to worry about. Like Hojo’s increasing demands to ‘ _convince’_ Aerith to come to Shinra, ramp up the capturing. He wonders how long it will take until Hojo snaps and demands someone _else_ bring her in by force.

He’s wrapped up in his paperwork to the point where he doesn’t look up when the door unlocks and opens, closing behind someone. Judging by the lack of sound, it’s Rude - or an incredibly guilty of _something_ Reno forced to confess to something by Rude.

What he isn’t expecting is Reeve. He’s looking tired, concerningly so, and Tseng sets his pen into its holder, folding his hands on his desk. “Tuesti.” 

Reeve offers a smile in turn and indicates to the camera with a tilt of his head. “I was wondering if I could borrow you for a moment? There’s something I’ve found that your team may need...I’ve got the paperwork in my office…” 

Tseng nods and gets up, his interest piqued. He doesn’t know what Reeve has planned - they haven’t had time lately for anything more than stolen kisses right before passing out together (sometimes on Tseng’s couch in the office and wasn’t _that_ the best decision to have moved), and quite frankly even if Reeve has a meal involving more than one vegetable waiting for them, Tseng is going to be more than grateful. 

They’re both silent on the walk - having been with the company to know that ears and eyes are _everywhere_ \- and Tseng only relaxes when Reeve locks the door of his office. He knows it’s probably one of the most secure offices in the entire building - barring Hojo’s own security system in the labs. 

“Rough day?” Reeve asks, and Tseng can’t help but chuckle. 

“Rough existence. How are you?” 

“The usual. Working on making things better from the inside, you know how it is.” Tseng smirks at the familiar line. “Did you eat?”

He shakes his head and lets Reeve tug him over to the desk and sits down. Tseng perches delicately on his knee, looking down at him. 

“I can have something ordered in if you want to spend a few hours in here.”

Thinking of the paperwork waiting for him - it suddenly occurs to him that it’s nothing that can’t wait a few hours. Matter of fact, none of his Turks are due to report in until later. And if something goes wrong, it wouldn’t matter where he was - he still has his PHS. 

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Reeve deliberately planned this. In fact, he does know better - the sneaky _bastard._

Tseng is grateful for the break as Reeve arranges lunch to be brought to them. They talk quietly - Reeve with an arm wrapped around Tseng’s waist, Tseng’s arm around his shoulders. Occasionally his hair gets moved aside, a few kisses pressed to the nape of his neck, the underside of his jaw. The texture of Reeve’s beard makes his breath hitch, and not for the first time in the past couple of weeks, he thinks about that mouth on his cock. 

"We've got...about an hour or so...can I offer you some...dessert?" The look on Reeve’s face can only be called _coy_ and Tseng rolls his eyes at the corny line. 

"In here?"

"Mm. I can gag you if you'd prefer but I don't have anything handy...your tie could work."

Those words hum under his skin, his breath quickening. Reeve runs a hand over his side and Tseng turns, grasping Reeve by his jaw and kissing him deeply. He tastes like spices and coffee, and _his_ ; overwhelming his senses enough for Tseng to straddle him properly, rock down against him with slow undulations of his hips. Firm hands grip his hips, forcing him down harder and he moans against Reeve’s lips.

“Do you want to fuck here?” Reeve whispers, and Tseng can’t help the shiver that goes through him at those words. They’ve never even _discussed_ crossing that line at work - not that he doesn’t think Reeve wouldn’t be into the idea, they just don’t have _time_ \- but he’s not opposed. Not in the slightest. Especially when Reeve pushes him up and turns him around, bending him over the desk. He makes quick work of undoing Tseng’s belt and slacks, pulling his pants and briefs down to his ankles.

Reeve runs a hand down his thigh and further, snapping the strap of his sock garter. Tseng turns his head to glare but his expression softens when Reeve smiles and runs his tongue up his inner thigh, his beard brushing against his skin and Tseng shivers before outright moaning when Reeve grabs his ass cheeks and spreads them, licking a long stripe up over his hole, his beard altogether soft and abrasive against his sensitive skin. 

He’s grabbing at papers and whatever is within arm’s reach as Reeve continues to lick into him, working a finger inside. Tseng doesn’t even realise Reeve’s gotten the lube out - much less where it _came from_ , further confirming that the sly fuck has been planning this encounter. 

Two fingers has him rocking back, low whines escaping him as he tries to force them _deeper_ , trying to make Reeve speed things up. All he gets is a not-so-gentle swat against his ass and those fingers pulling free, leaving him aching for more, hands on the desk as he props himself up. “Be patient. We’ve got all day,” Reeve says quietly, his clean hand reaching around to grasp Tseng’s weeping cock, giving it a few strokes.

They most certainly do _not_ , but Tseng’s retort is lost when he feels the blunt head of Reeve’s cock breach him slowly. He stills, allows Reeve to inch his way into him until he feels impossibly _full_. “Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Tseng moans, head hanging between his shoulders as he feels Reeve grasp him by the hips and pull him backwards as he thrusts into him.

Reeve sets a hard pace, drawing out every stroke only to slam back into him hard. He can’t stop moaning, feeling his orgasm starting to curl hot in his abdomen and - 

“Aye, laddie!”

Tseng is startled enough to jerk away and off Reeve’s cock, and Reeve starts laughing. 

“Why didn’t you turn that thing off?” Tseng points at the black and white cat peering curiously up at them, and watches as Reeve pulls out his PHS and stabs at it with his finger a few times. The robot powers down and there’s silence in the office once more.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too.”  
  
  


*

  
Sector Seven is no more, and Tseng is numb. He manages to get through the meeting, debriefing - tries to relieve the guilt off his team, but it doesn’t work. It’s hard to justify what they did - were _told_ to do. And gods, he’s just about tempted to let the next person who threatens his life follow through with it. Bringing Aerith to Hojo is the icing on the worst cake he could ever imagine, and he’d rather just go to bed and forget the day even happened. If he had a gil for every time he thought that, he’d...still not have enough gil to entertain the thought of retiring. 

He knows who he needs to see, but he’s been putting off the conversation. Fight. Whatever it’s going to come down to, because he _knows_ Reeve cares about what his department does.

Outside his office door, he knocks twice. No answer. “Reeve?”

“Not now, Tseng.”

“Open the door.”

The door swings open moments later, and Reeve just stares at him. The rage simmering is palpable, and if it were different circumstances, Tseng would happily let Reeve do literally _anything_ to him. Now, he just stands there, struggling to find the words to convey how he _feels_. That he _does_ have regret. That it wasn’t _his_ idea. He was following orders. That was all. 

“I can’t do this, Tseng. I just...you know I can’t. We’re too...I can’t.” 

The door shuts again as another part of Tseng shatters along with it.

  
~  
  
  
That night, he can’t sleep. Even when Reeve didn’t stay the night, his PHS would _ping_ with a message. Something sweet, or a picture. Even just a random cat photo, despite knowing how much Tseng _hates_ cats. 

Instead there’s silence, and Tseng sighs for what feels like the thousandth time and rolls over, punching the pillow into submission. He ignores the fact that he’d probably sleep better if he wasn’t wearing one of Reeve’s shirts and it still _smells_ like him. No, it’s clearly the pillow’s fault. 

A tell-tale chiming sound at his door yanks him from his reverie and he groans. If it’s Reno, he’s going to murder someone. He’s in _no mood_ to deal with his bullshit, even if it would be mostly Tseng’s fault for having him drop the plate. 

Except it’s Reeve, looking far more exhausted than Tseng had seen him earlier. 

“Reeve?”

He doesn’t say anything, just reaches up and gently wraps his fingers against the nape of Tseng’s neck, pressing their foreheads together.

“I can’t do this.”

“Then don’t,” Tseng says quietly, his hands coming to rest on Reeve’s waist. Reeve sighs and leans against Tseng more and it’s starting to hurt his forehead but he can’t bring himself to break away.

“Why didn’t you come to me? I could have helped sooner…”

“You can’t save everyone, Reeve.” 

“Not even you, huh?”

Tseng shakes his head, allows Reeve to push him into his apartment. “Not even me.”

They don’t talk any further that night, too wrapped up in each other, but Tseng doesn’t question it.

And when his team is sent to hunt down Sephiroth, he only leaves a short note for Reeve. It’s more than he would ever give anyone else, and he hopes that sentiment is adequately conveyed.

*

The Temple of the Ancients was - quite frankly, a fucking disaster, and seeing Cait Sith didn’t seem like a saving grace - even if he knew it was Reeve commanding from Midgar. He’s too out of it to remember how he got to a hospital, drifting in and out of consciousness for however long. Days? Weeks? The only thing he notices is when Reeve comes to see him and falls into the chair by his bed. He’s looking long in the face and exhausted, stubble starting to fill in the gaps between his manicured beard. It’s not a look Tseng is used to seeing on Reeve, but he can’t imagine he looks much better, all bandaged up and useless in his bed.   
  
"What is love to you?" Reeve asks quietly, fingers pressing gently against Tseng’s wrist, looking anywhere but at him. His hatred of hospitals is evident, to say the least. And Tseng is too out of it to question meaningless words like _love._

"Giving something that isn't yours," Tseng eventually murmurs in reply. All he gets is a quiet chuckle, but those fingers grip his wrist tightly. It'll bruise, but he doesn't say anything. All he does is close his eyes, drifting off into a chemically induced sleep.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: no robots were traumatized during the writing of this fic, however several short-circuited at the visuals they were bombarded with.


End file.
